Dedicated To
by A Witness
Summary: It’s the one year anniversary of Doyle’s death, and Cordelia needs an original piece to perform in an audition. So she chooses something she wrote about a year ago....


DISCLAIMER: ANGEL, and all contents (characters, scenes, plot and/or developments, etc.) and/or aspects of ANGEL which may appear in, have inspired or relate to this fiction are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, the WB, 20th Century Fox Television, Mutant Enemy Inc, Greenwolf Co., Kuzui Enterprises, and Sandollar Television, as well as any other parties unintentionally unnamed. NO INFRINGEMENT IS INTENDED. The author does not claim any ownership of "ANGEL" in any form and/or part. PLEASE DON'T SUE!   
EPISODE IN MIND: "Hero". I know you've heard it a million times, but I'm coming up with things based on that episode DAILY!!! Actually, this takes place about a year after that heart-wrenching ep.  
RATED: G  
WARNING: It sucks, my songwriting/poemwriting abilities suck, but please tell me. FEED ME BACK.  
SUMMARY: It's the one year anniversary of Doyle's death, and Cordelia needs an original piece to perform in an audition. So she chooses something she wrote about a year ago....  
  
DEDICATED TO  
by A Witness  
  
  
"Oh..my GOD!!" Cordelia slammed the drawer of Angel's main desk shut and opened another one, searching through the files. There were papers scattered all over the floor, desk, counter, and furniture as she desperately sought for what she was looking for. Curiously, Wesley ventured towards her.  
  
"Um...Cordelia?"  
  
"What?!" Her head popped up from beneath the counter, her hair in disarray and her face pink.   
  
"What, may I ask, are you searching for in all of Angels...things?" Wesley bent down beside her.  
  
"I'm looking -" She slumped down in exhaustion. "- for something beautiful, romantic, WHATEVER, that I can read for an audition this afternoon."  
  
"Really?" Wesley asked. "What part?"  
  
"It's a part in this theatre production, not too big, but I thought I would grace them with my acting abilities. And I'm desperate. They require you to perform something at the auditions," she checked her watch, "which are in about two hours, preferably a song, and preferably original. I thought that maybe, a vampire as ancient as Angel, who has seen so many different time periods, has something that I can maybe use!" Cordelia glanced desperately at the piles of paper. "You'd think that, wouldn't you? But the guy's been dead for 200 years, and he doesn't even have one romantic piece of writing, or anything dramatic, or depressing, or happy. I need it, too!!!"  
  
Wesley shrugged a little, and very cautiously tried, "Well, I have a collection of original songs and poems that I can lend to you. I like to write." He hesitated again. "'O, Maryline! how beautiful your song! Your voice, echoing along! Your milkwhite skin, upon whose chin, I kiss, O lovely Maryline! You fill my every heart's desire, as I gaze into the fire, I wish I were in open arms, of yours O lovely Maryline! And soft! I hear your beating heart, upon whose sword I now must part, from hands of your murderer, O Maryline! And I must say, O Maryline, that if I were only thine, we could live together in Avonlea, only you, and only me!'" Wesley finished reciting. "So, Cordelia, what do you -" He turned his head and realized she wasn't sitting there anymore. "- think?"  
  
~*~  
  
Cordelia rummaged through her shoe boxes filled with diaries and loose letters and papers. She was absolutly desperate, checking her watch every few seconds in search for something to bring to the audition. It was 3:57. The auditions were at 4:00, and she could hardly run in high heels....she grabbed whatever paper from her Emotional Expression shoe box and left the apartment in a flurry.   
  
~*~  
  
Approaching the building, Cordelia gripped the rumpled piece of looseleaf as she hopped into the auditorium and took a seat inconspiculously next to some curly blond girl. She hadn't had a chance to review what was on the randomly selected piece of paper, only hoping that it was good, and that it was one of the intense pieces she usually wrote to express her feelings.   
  
"Cordelia Chase!" the director called, and she got up, smoothed out her dress and hair and approached the stage, feeling a nervousness in her stomach as she uncrumpled the paper, her mouth in an automatic freezeframe smile. And then, her eyes skimmed the words, "Dedicated to" and her heart sank, her smile faded, and her eyes widened.  
  
"We're waiting," the director said impatiently.  
  
"Um, right," Cordelia recovered, her mind preoccupied. "My name is Cordelia Chase, I -"  
  
"Just sing or recite, or whatever. We have your resume, Ms. Chase."  
  
"Um, okay." She wasn't used to being interrupted, or so rudely, too. She cleared her throat, at the same time, trying to clear her head. "This is Dedicated To A.F.D. a good friend of mine who died about a year ago."   
  
She cleared her throat and hesitated just a moment.  
  
"If you hadn't gone and left me,  
We would still be kissing here. . . ." She faltered.  
"I will never again feel you,   
So close, so long, so near.  
You have left me now to save me,  
And your hope will always be,  
I will remember our kisses,  
and what you did for me.  
Your smile is in my memory,  
As I weep for my great loss.  
Your face, imprinted in my mind,  
May fade, but not your cause.  
You left me for a reason,  
An unselfish one, in fact,  
But I never will accept that  
You have gone and won't be back.  
Still, I'll remember your face forever,  
and I'll always feel your touch.  
I'll remember what you asked me....  
Never thought I'd feel this much.  
I should have listened when you spoke to me,  
Should have answered when you smiled,  
But I didn't think you'd be gone tomorrow,  
I thought we'd still have a while.  
And now we'll never know,  
If it could have worked with me and you.  
And you'll never say, "I love you,"  
And never hear, "I love you, too."  
If you hadn't gone and left me, though,  
We would still be kissing here.  
I will never again feel you,  
So close  
So long  
So near."  
  
The last words faded into an echo, which in turn, became silence. The director watched her face, and it looked almost as though Cordelia's eyes were watering.  
  
He sat tight, staring rocksolid at her face. "Beautiful." He melted, and smiled. "Beautiful." He began to clap and the people with him approved with artificial smiling, nodding heads. "We'll definitely be calling you, Ms. Chase."  
  
Cordelia nodded, her emotions too crowded to reply. She stepped down from the stage and walked quietly out of the auditorium, paper still in her hand. She didn't know what to think, so she didn't think anything.  
  
~*~  
  
"Hello, Cordelia, how were the -" Wesley was passed without a word by Cordelia. "- auditions?"  
  
The bathroom door closed with barely a sound. Not even her sobs were audible, or her back as it leaned against the door, or her body as it slumped to the tiled bathroom floor. She just stayed in there for a long, long time, locked in her own space without a sound.   
  
~*~  
  
Cordelia walked down the boardwalk of the pier wordlessly, the paper crumpled in a loose fist. It was 10:10, her digital watch said. She had been locked in the bathroom for most of the day, crying until her eyes were dry, and then, thinking about Doyle's final moments on a ship called the Quintessa, running them through her mind over and over, until it was a film strip that she had memorized image by image. Even as she watched her feet, padding against the wood in their worn Keds, her mind's eye could clearly see Doyle and his selfless jump. Saving her. Again.  
  
There was a dark, lone figure standing at the end of the pier, just looking over the crashing sea. It was beginning to drizzle, but Cordelia joined him in hushed, wistful memory of the fateful night last year that had almost passed them by without a thought. Angel's gaze never left the horizon, seeming to see nothing, and everything. His face, as usual, betrayed nothing of his dark thoughts.   
  
Neither spoke a word and the silence between them remained unbroken, each lost in their own thoughts. Thoughts of a ship, and demons, and half demons with fear running in their veins. And of the Beacon, a blinding white light that faded slowly, unlike the harsh realization that it had taken their dear friend with it, dying with a cause he had been so dedicated to. Cordelia's fingers released the crumpled paper mindlessly and it flew above the churning waters, soaked with drizzle. The silhouttes of the pair on the boardwalk's end glided into the car parked just beyond the beaches. The paper was swept over the waters, liquid soaking and smearing the ink until they were just blots, undecipherable save for two words: "Dedicated to" which were finally blurred by the tears of the sky.  
  
fin 


End file.
